


soul

by gabrielleholland



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, F/M, Major Major Major Canon Divergence, R Plus L Equals J, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, and someone who’s ACTUALLY AGE APPROPRIATE, as much as i ship it willas/sansa has a wild age difference and i get it was the times but like, canon divergence starts around the meeting between cat and renly and just goes nuts from then on, ditto sansa/hound, dont complain because i absolutely warned you, oof i know sansa and edric haven’t interacted in canon and probs never will but it’s a cute ship, red wedding? i don’t know her, there’s kind of sort of a plot? idk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-25
Updated: 2018-09-25
Packaged: 2019-07-08 13:18:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15931247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gabrielleholland/pseuds/gabrielleholland
Summary: soulmate/soulmarks AU for the Stark family, idk what else to say man that’s kinda all it is





	soul

**Author's Note:**

> oof quick disclaimer, this is a blend of both show and book canon and also a whole lot of not-canon. i use some show ages, some book ages, some show versions of characters and so,e books versions. it does lean more heavily into the books though, like with edric dayne and some skagos stuff. idk, just go with it i guess there isn’t a lot of rhyme or rhythm when it comes to the canon

 

   Jon is eight when he receives his mark. He wakes up in agony, his left shoulder screaming in pain and he screaming even louder. His father races in, and when Ned sees it Jon can see fear in his father’s eyes. Jon doesn’t understand why his father tells him to never show it, to not speak of it. Jon thinks it’s beautiful. A three-headed dragon, silvery-white, with a stunning violet that snakes across the scales, but the dragon’s eyes are what really mesmerise him. One head has red eyes that sparkle like rubies, the second has golden eyes that shimmer with a creamy-white twinkle and the third head has green eyes that glow like emeralds, with little specks of bronze dotted though it. Whoever his soulmate is must be the most beautiful woman in existence, if his tattoo mirrors her.

   One day, when he’s twelve and fully understands the significance of his mark, Robb rips his shirt by accident. His sleeve betrays him, cutting open to reveal his mark. It might have been fine if it were not in front of the whole family. Robb looks at it in awe, Sansa fawns over it, Theon makes a nasty joke, Arya shrugs but Catelyn _shrieks_. That night, he hears his father berate the children, and though Sansa sometimes tries to peek at it they do not bring it up, not even Theon. They understand what it means, and he can see they pity him. He doesn’t hear Ned talk to Catelyn, but she’s tight-lipped the next day and refuses to speak to him for a month. 

   It’s a burden he carries, just another problem that marks him as different. There are only two Targaryens left in the world, Viserys and Daenerys, exiled in Essos. He doesn’t know much about them, no one does. He can’t ask, because if he does people will get suspicious and if Robert were to hear that Ned’s bastard’s soulmate was a Targaryen, who knows what would happen. 

   It’s a beautiful burden, though. He can’t help but admire it, late at night when he’s alone. It shines even in the darkness, and sometimes it even feels like a reassurance. 

   When he falls in love with Ygritte, that mark hangs over him like the threat of winter. He ignores those feelings of caution, ignores how bedding the wildling girl feels like betrayal, ignores how she herself has no mark. When she dies there’s almost a sense of relief. It’s a big almost.

   The White Walkers attack, and there’s no one to answer the call but silence and frigid wind. Robb is caught up in the South, Stannis too, the Lannisters aren’t an option, every lord and lady rejects them. In a moment of pure desperation, he sends a letter to Mereen, where it’s rumoured the Dragon Queen resides. It’s a flight of fancy, he never expects her help.

   When he finally meets the last Targaryen, and sees for himself her dragons, he damn near shrieks as loud as Catelyn had. 

 

   Daenerys hates her soul mark. She’s born with it, a white beast of a wolf with deep red eyes and frost-covered fur on her right shoulder. She has vague memories of Ser Willam Darry telling her how her when her mother saw it, she smiled for the first time in many a year. He says it will protect her, but it does anything but.

   Viserys despises it. When he beats her, he makes a point to strike her mark. He never received a mark, and she knows it infuriated him that she did. She knows it infuriates him more that it’s not for him. _Targaryens have wed each other for all our existence_ , he spits, _why are you any different?_

When she sees Drogo, she tries to equate her mark to him. _Perhaps the red eyes are for his copper skin, perhaps they’re for his stallion, perhaps the white fur is for my hrakka pelt_. But she cannot do it. The hrakka is no wolf, and those dark red eyes do not belong to Drogo. It becomes a painful torment. Drogo was not hers, and she was not his.

   When she meets Baristan, he tells her of her parents. Aerys’ mark was on his face, plastered over his eye. A flame, green and so beautiful it looked almost as if it burned. At first, they said it meant he would be a great king. Powerful, a leader. But slowly, ever so, it became an omen. Rhaella’s mark was a tragedy, purple and white stripes around her ring finger. Barristsn told her of Ser Bonifer Hasty, and Daenerys wished she could have met her mother.

   Jorah’s was a different story. A tight braid of long blonde hair that wrapped around his left arm. Lynesse, no doubt, but she knew how Jorah tried to equate it to Daenerys. It pained her, but she said nothing.

   Castle Black sends her a letter, one day, begging for her help. Creatures made of ice, White Walkers, threaten life. At first she laughs it off. Viserys had told her of White Walkers. Night tales, told by wet nurses to frighten little children. But then she recalled the frost covered fur, and reconsiders.

When she finally meets the bastard of Ned Stark, and sees his direwolf, she has to stop herself from weeping with joy.

 

 

   Robb believed in soulmates. Call him naive, call him a romantic. Perhaps it was so, but he didn’t care. There was a beauty in the idea of soulmates, and he was content in standing by it. He had grown up among them. He had his mother and father, whose marks he had seen first-hand. His mother’s, that breath-taking sword across her stomach, the stretch-marks from childbirth slashed through it like lightning. His father’s, a sweet-looking trout with scales that shine in a thousand hues of blue and the forceful bloody red cuts that scar the fish. When his mother‘s hands are cut, it’s almost like fate

   His mother tells him of his grandparents. Hoster Tully, that strong and solemn man, with yellow-and-black bat wings on his ankle. Minisa Whent, softer yet so spirited, with blue-and-red scales that crawled up her legs and made her look like a mermaid. She told him stories of all the great marks of the Starks and Tullys, and smiles when he asks her when he might get his.

   He gains his mark at fifteen, on his name day. It is the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen, and though it burns on that first night, he treasures it. A single golden rose over his heart, leaves and thorns stretching across his chest. He shows his mother immediately, and she beams. She declares it must be for a Tyrell, and when Ned sees it he gives his son a smile and embraces him. After a lengthy talk, his parents decide to inform the Tyrells, but before they can send a letter and arrange a betrothal the war forbids them.

   He forgets about it, over the next few months. He has too much to worry about, too many people to mourn for, too many people to fight for. When the idea to broker peace with King Renly is brought to the table, his mother urges him to go in person. He tries to speak against it. The war is too important, he needs to be here. His mother is determined, telling him how Renly’s young Tyrell wife is said to be one of the most beautiful women in Westeros. Theon teases him, and japes that no doubt the little rose falls into an empty bed with Renly as her husband, though a part of Robb thinks Theon is genuine in his words. He goes in person, mostly for peace though deep down he knows he’s curious.

   When he reaches Renly’s party, he reminds himself it is so his people can finally know peace, but when he lands his eyes on Margaery all those thoughts vanish. His mark aches, eager to connect with its other half, but he stops himself. She seems to look at her husband with such adoration he cannot take that from her.

   They become friends over his stay. She is an easy conversation partner, witty and jovial. He keeps his distance though. It is not his place to break a marriage, to wound the King and his little rose. He sees, however, that the King’s _little rose_ is not Margaery, but Loras. He observes the glances Renly gives Loras, the lingering touches, the time they spend alone. It is not for him to judge, he has spent enough time amongst his men to know that they all have their odd desires. To each his own, but the more Robb sees of Loras and Renly the more it convinces him that perhaps he is allowed to love the pretty Tyrell queen.

   He is undressing, one day, when Margaery stumbles upon him. She gasps audibly as her eyes trail to his chest. He stammers out apologies, blushing and tripping over his words. She holds a hand up to silence him, shuts the tent, and opens her bodice. He looks away instinctively, and she taks his hand and presses it against her heart. He sees it, a wolf, and they stand there for what feels like eternity.

   When Renly dies, there’s panic. Men rushing to pick sides, nobles straining to choose the right side. He doesn’t see her, except from afar. She dons black mourning gowns, and he tries not to think how beautiful she looks in them. On the night the Stark armies are to leave, Margaery runs to Robb’s room in a flush, all smiles and happiness, her frail grandmother behind her. 

   They wed at the Winterfell godswood, King and Queen.

 

   Margaery was raised to give little care to her mark. It doesn’t matter who her soulmate is, only who will bring her power. Her father gives little care in her upbringing, preferring only to name him her daughter when it best suits him. Her mother cares more, but still she places dignity and social standing above her daughter. It is her grandmother who truly raises her. She teaches her cunning. She puts her to bed with stories of her youth, how she refused that forthborn targaryen son for the more powerful Luthor Tyrell, how it is not the man who matters but his position.

   Margaery doesn’t put much faith in soulmates. Neither her mother or father seem to need them. Her father doesn’t have one and her mother’s is a chalice and a black rose that look suspiciously like the sigil of House Costayne. Her grandmother doesn’t have one, and from what she’s been told her grandfather Luthor had a plump pig on his back. When she asks her eldest brother Willas he laughs and asks her if it truly matters to her so much. 

   She’s ambitious, ruthless. She knows that. It keeps her awake at night, because in truth all she wants is to be Queen. She wants to smile from a golden throne, a golden crown on her head in a golden palace. She wants to rule, she wants to lead. When her parents bring forth suitors she judges them not from how they might treat her, but by how much power they can give her.

   Against her wishes though, the idea of soulmates and true love grow on her. It first happens when she sees Garlen and Leonette’s marks. They appear on their necks when they first meet, Garlen’s being a harp laying against an apple, Leonette’s being two gold roses. They wed a moon later, and when Margaery sees the way they look at each other a part of her heart tugs.

   It happens next with Loras. They’d always been close, being born only a year or so apart. He’d been squiring with the Lord Renly, and Margaery notices how melancholic and torn he looks. She confronts him one day, and he falls apart. He shows her the blue-eyed stag at his side and begs for her to not hate him. She tells him she could never, because that is the truth. 

   She tries to keep her stupid want for love deep down and hidden. It’s not hard, in truth, because when her grandmother first puts forth the idea of marrying Joffrey Baratheon she smiles. She’s heard the rumours of his cruelty, but she doesn’t care. He is a crown, he is a throne, he is power.

   It never comes to fruition. Instead she marries Renly, which in truth is not half-bad. The Lannisters have a weak hold on the throne anyway, and no doubt Renly will win this war. He has the might of the Stormlands and the Reach, and honestly he probably is the best candidate for king. 

   They do not consummate the marriage. The first thing she says once the guests deposit them in the bedroom is that she knows about Loras. Renly crumples slightly, but she assures him that she doesn’t care. They spend the next half-hour faking noises and really it’s kinda fun and not half-bad, and when the guests have left she lets Renly visit Loras while she sleeps alone in their marriage bed after a strong swig of milk-of-the-poppy.

  That night, she gains her mark. It’s an auburn, blue-eyed wolf, wearing an iron crown and with fur that’s frosted with ice over her heart. She screams when she sees it the next morning, so loud that Loras rushes in with his sword in hand. 

   She knows who it’s for. She’d be an idiot if she didn’t. Robb Stark is a well-known name now. King in the North, son of the traitor Ned Stark who’s won every battle he’s fought. She tries not to think of him. It doesn’t work. She tries to protest when Renly declares that he and Robb will discuss terms of peace, but people are dying and if she’s going to be a good queen she must care for the people.

   The breath is knocked from her when she first sees him, and it takes her a few moments to regain her posture. She tries not to notice how his eyes linger on her, a look of fright and confusion plastered on his face. It unsettles her, seeing him, because she doesn’t see him as a tool for power. She sees him as Robb Stark, her wolf.

   She keeps appearances though. She’s not stupid enough to wear her heart on her sleeve. She plays at being Renly’s pretty young wife, she talks with Robb as if he doesn’t make her heart stop. It hurts so, so bad.

   She falls in love with him. It’s the only way to explain it. She doesn’t know if he feels the same. One-sided soulmates exist. If he does though, he’s good at hiding it. She falls in love with everything about him. She loves his voice, the way he leads his people, the way he seems to genuinely care for his people, the way he smiles and laughs, even his crazily oversized wolf. She’s seen it growl at many, many people but when she first meets it, it licks her hand and wags it’s tail like a puppy. Robb comments that Grey Wind only reacts like that to trustworthy people, and she tries desperately to hide her blush.

   She’s searching for Loras when she sees Robb’s tent. For once it’s unguarded, and her curiosity takes the better of her. She immediately regrets this decision upon opening the tent flap. Robb is changing his shirt, and his chest is bare. It’s not the chest per se that interests her (though she can’t say she isn’t slightly flustered), but the rose that sits on his heart. He’s stammering apologies, blushing furiously and it makes her smile. She doesn’t have time to think through what she’s about to do. Perhaps she just doesn’t want to. She holds up a hand before opening her bodice. He blushes harder, looking away, and she only now realises what she’s done. She can’t go back now though, so she takes his hand and pressing against the wolf’s head that rests upon her heart. He finally looks at her, and she can see him processing the situation. They stand there, half-naked and vulnerable, and she feels content.

   When Renly dies, there’s panic. She doesn’t speak to Robb for days, only stealing glances from afar. Loras breaks down, refusing to leave Renly’s body. She begs for him to try and be more discreet in his affection for the dead man, but to no avail. Her father sends a very pointed letter to her, urging for her to wed Joffrey. She thinks of how she once wanted to, and rips up the note. Her grandmother finds the shredded bits of parchment, and after a confrontation Margaery confesses everything. She fears Olenna will hate her for succumbing to such love, but instead her grandmother embraces her and gives her a rare smile.

    She and Robb wed at the Winterfell godswood, King and Queen.

 

 

   Sansa prayed to the gods every night for her soul mark. It was all she ever wanted. Her true love, who would adore her for all eternity.

   They do not answer.

   She loves seeing her mother’s. It’s Ice, her father’s sword, across her stomach. _It protects me sweetling_ , she tells Sansa,  _whenever I am with child. It protected Robb, and you, and Arya, and Bran and it will protect this baby when he is born_. It’s ever so romantic.

   When she sees Joffrey, she begs the gods extra hard for her mark. A beautiful golden lion, just for her. Not a stag, because Joffrey isn’t anything like the king. He is her lion who will protect her just like her father protects her mother. And then she learns that lions mean sharp teeth and claws that slash, and she begs the gods to never give her a mark.

   They do not answer.

    It comes to her on her first moon’s blood. Her mother had said that gaining a soulmark hurt, and so did her moonblood, but both at once was torture. It kept her up all night, whimpering into her pillow. She refuses to look at the mark. She can’t bear to see it. What if it’s for Joffrey? What if the gods have fated for them to be together? Surely they are not so cruel. She begs them not to let Cersei know.

   They do not answer.

   Cersei sees the bloody mattress, and that’s the end of it. She declares Sansa fit for marriage and children. She has Sansa cleaned up, much to Sansa’s distress. She doesn’t want to see herself naked, she doesn’t want to see that mark. As her handmaidens slip off her clothing, she begs the gods for it to please, _please_ not be Joffrey.

   For once, the answer.

   In the bath she sees her mark and cries for joy. It’s a sword on her right leg, so like her mother’s yet so unlike it. Unlike her mother’s Ice, with its dark and smoky colour, her’s is pale as milkglass. At the hilt is a sparkling purple gem carved into the shape of a star and it glitters as the sun streams in. It trails from the top of her thigh to her ankle, and glows a brilliant white. It shines so much so she wonders if it might light up the dark. She’s heard the tales of House Dayne and their legendary sword so no doubt it’s for a member of that house, but none of that matters. _Not Joffrey. It’s not Joffrey_.

   It’s a mercy, a small miracle. She’s not so stupid as to envision some knight who will save her from Joffrey and love her forever, but it’s a promise from the gods that no matter what, she will never be Joffrey’s. Maybe by marriage, maybe by name, but he will never have her. Not all of her.

   It’s difficult, in the Red Keep, but she keeps her head high. She learns to stop being so naive. She breaks away from Cersei, from Joffrey, from Petyr, from all those who try and manipulate her, and plays the demure maiden. She denounces her family when necessary, she pretends to love Joffrey, she survives. There _are_ people who help her. Sandor Clegane, for one. He is like a protector for her, a _father_. Not her real father. No one could take that from Eddard, but he protects her and makes sure she’s safe. Even Tyrion Lannister grows on her. She doesn’t trust him, she never will, but she doesn’t hate him. He tries to stop the worst of Joffrey’s attacks, and she’s appreciative.

   It’s the night before her wedding, when Sandor whisks her away. They slip away under the cover of dark and she thanks the gods both old and new over and over and over. They’re caught though. As strong hands grab her she thinks of how Joffrey will treat this. He will execute Sandor, no doubt about that, but what will he do to her?

   The gods are kind though, and she soon realises her captors are not Lannisters but the Brotherhood without Banners. She cries when she sees Arya, all those stupidly silly sister fights flying out the window. She embraces her and for once, Arya doesn’t resist. Sandor wins his trial, and he tags along with the Brotherhood when Sansa tells him she is staying with them. Beric tasks his young squire with tailing her, laughing as he tells the poor boy that he’s the knight in all those tales, protecting the princess. They become friends, and when she tells him what his family’s ancestral sword looks like her heart melts.

   He is everything Joffrey isn’t, and he is her soulmate.

 

   Edric had never set much store by soulmates. Perhaps they exist, perhaps they don’t. Who is to say a colouration of the skin should dictate who you shoul reproduce with?

   He gains his mark at seven, and his mother says it means the gods have extra blessed him. It’s a slender red creature, with pretty blue eyes and snowflakes settled on its fur on his left calf. He assumes it’s a fox for House Florent, with the blue eyes being for the blue flowers on the sigil. His father laughs and makes a jape about the size of Florent ears and his mother squeezes his cheek and says she’ll look into it if he so ever wishes.

  It’s not that he hasn’t seen soulmate marks work. He’s seen his parents’, everyone has. For his mother, a purple star on her left cheek, shining with silver specks. House Dayne, of course, specifically Alaric Dayne. His father’s, a green quil with gold specks on his right cheek. House Jordayne, of course, specifically Nynaeve Jordayne. A match made in the Seven Heavens.

   He’s seen his Aunt Allyria’s, on her face like her brother’s. A purple bolt of lightning, struck over her eye from her eyebrow to her heart. And Beric Dondarrion’s, a series of violet stars that travel from the base of his neck to of course - his heart.

   Near everyone he’s seen has a matching soul mark, yet he still cannot put care into it. If he finds his true love, then that’s cool. If not, then so be it. It’s not like people can’t love those who aren’t their soulmate.

   He learned of the story of Ashara young. His father didn’t like talking about her, nor did his mother, but Aunt Allyria did. As if to keep her story alive she had to pass it down. She told him how Ashara had a sword as her mark, Ice, for a Stark. Whether that was Brandon or Eddard or even Benjen she didn’t know. What she did know is that both Brandon and Benjen had no marks and Ned had a Tully trout. When Edric timidly asked his father about it, he’d angrily said that Allyria was blinded by sorrow and desperate for a less tragic and meaningless ending for Ashara, and that though Ashara’s mark was a sword it was not Ice, but the Palestone and that her soulmate had been the tower she’d jumped from. 

   The story haunts him, haunts his mark. Whenever he sees it, all he thinks of is his late aunt jumping from that dreaded tower. His father had barred it, and it lay empty except for the dust and her ghost.

   When he leaves to squire for Ser Beric, a part of his happiness and willingness to leave Starfall is to get away from that tower. He shows his mark to Beric once, and the man laughs and tells him it’s no fox, but a wolf, and that he is no doubt destined for a Stark.

   Again, his mark is ties him to Ashara. A Stark, just like she. Or not, perhaps, but it hardly matters. Was her mark Ice, or was it the Palestone? He’ll never know. They never found her body, and unlike her siblings her mark was not visible to the casual, unbiased viewer.

   When the Brotherhood finds Arya, Edric is conflicted. She is a Stark, is she his soulmate? He doesn’t like her like that, and he saw her mark once when she ripped the sleeve of that ridiculous dress at Acorn Hall and there’s no way it’s meant for him. He’s also seen the looks she and Gendry exchange, and there’s no way he’s getting in the middle of that. She does confirm that it’s a wolf on his calf, and a direwolf at that. She also says it looks like her sister’s old wolf, but she refuses to elaborate and he’s left with more questions than he began. 

   When he meets Sansa, his leg burns and he has a limp for the rest of the night. Arya notices though thankfully says nothing, but the rest of the Brotherhood? Not so much. Thoros notices almost immediately and snorts every time he looks over at the Dayne boy, Lem figures it out next and tells Tom o’ Sevens and then Tom is singing extremely pointed love songs whenever he sees Edric with Sansa and then Beric finds out and has a hearty laugh and makes Edric tail Sansa even though she’s already got the freaking _Hound_ to protect her.

   He’s not too upset though, because finally Ashara’s ghost has left him. Sansa is his mark, and a few years later when he sees her mark up close and realises it’s a  _sword_ he laughs.

 

 

   Arya gets her soul mark at six, _before Sansa_ , and she knows it infuriates her sister to no end. It’s rather ugly in her opinion. A black metal bull’s head, with yellow horns and irritaingly blue eyes. It’s plastered on her left bicep, and everytime she sees it she groans.

   She doesn’t want a soulmate. Soulmates are for annoying ladies like Sansa. She doesn’t want some true love who’ll protect her like a knigh in shining armour. If anything, _she’s_ gonna be the knight, and she can protect herself perfectly well thank you very much. True love is for silly little girls.

   Her mother’s is a wicked sword over her stomach, and Arya wishes her’s was as interesting as that. Not some stupid bull. Her mother tries to tell her how beautiful it is that Arya has someone out there who’s just for her, and how really the bull’s head is not so ugly. _It’s quite pretty, if anything,_ she says _. Look at it’s lovely blue eyes, and see how those horns shimmer like gold_. Her mother once says that perhaps it is Baratheon. It was yellow and black after all, with blue eyes. Perhaps she is destined to marry one of Roberts’s sons, or if Renly’s if he ever has any, or maybe Stannis’. Arya tells her to shut up, and she gets a stern yelling at from her mother, her father _and_ Septa Mordane.

   Her father has a scarred trout over his stomach, same place as Catelyn’s. It looks pretty amazing in Arya’s opinion. Ned tells her about the story of his soul mark, and when Arya complains about her’s he laughs. _You don’t have to marry your other half_ , he says. _Not everyone does. And besides, not all soul marks are romantic. Some are platonic. Some are even just omens_. And then he went quiet, and Arya had to snap her fingers to regain his attention. He smiles sadly, and tells her she’ll find someone one day. And if not, then that’s alright too.

   When she sees Gendry, and his stupid bull helmet, she refuses to believe it. Keeps the thought locked deep down. No way is the stupid blacksmith boy her soulmate. And if so, it’s just because he’s her friend. And he’d barely even that. 

   She does see his mark though. Tough not to, when he never wears a shirt in the forge. When she first sees it, she doesn’t believe it. It’s Nymeria but with grey eyes, not gold. Eyes that look a lot like hers. 

   She pushes it further down, continuously trying to convince herself that soulmates are stupid and everything’s stupid and especially Gendry is stupid.

   And then her sleeve rips at Acorn Hall and he sees her mark and they have to pretend like they don’t know they’re each other’s soulmates. It’s a little awkward, but Arya’s gotten good at pretending emotions don’t exist.

   When Gendry tells her he wants to join the Brotherhood, it hits her like a boulder. She shouldn’t care. She doesn’t care. He can do whatever he wants, stupid bull boy. She nods sourly, and doesn’t speak to him for a week.

   When the Brotherhood finally reach Robb, she hesitates. She never thought she would. She can see the camp right there, they can’t be more than a few yards away. Her brother is right there, her mother is right there. She’s with her family again. Even Sansa is with her, and she’s even happy about that. It’s just that Gendry is her family too. 

   She asks him, letting go of her pride yet still as stubborn as ever, if he’ll go with her. He seems surprised, his confusion reaching those irritatingly blue eyes. They’re in hearing distance of the Brotherhood, and for once they don’t say anything. She almost wishes they would.

   He says yes, and her mark burns.

 

   Gendry couldn’t stand the whole soulmate bullshit. Who cares who your true love is? No ones ever loved him, not really, and he’s never really loved anyone. He doesn’t remember his mother enough to love her, or to know if she loved him, and he gives exactly zero shits about his father. Tobho Mott is a good boss, but it’s not like he has a real bond with the man.

   He gets his mark at eight, a few days before being apprenticed to Mott. He doesn’t remember much about those days, just the searing pain on his bicep. After the agony had drifted away, what was left was some crazy beast of a wolf. wild eyed and growling, with grey fur and grey eyes. 

   It haunts him, this wolf. He hears it howl in the night, sees it tear open large animals double it’s size in his dreams.

   When he sees Arya, the first thing he thinks is that she reminds him of his mark.She has the same grey eyes, the same wildness, the same ferociousness. He figures out she’s a girl almost immediately, but whatever. They all have secrets and it’s not like he wants her to get raped and murdered or anything, because that’s absolutely what will happen if these men find out. He doesn’t really want to be her friend, not if it means indulging in all that soulmate stupidity, and it’s clear she’s not hyped about him. They grow close though, close enough for him to admit that he considers her a friend. 

   He remembers that night at the Peach, with Bella. He was never going to actually go with her, but there was a part of him that wanted to, just to piss Arya off. 

   And then Acorn Hall happens, and he sees her mark. On her bicep, same as him, opposite arm. A bull, with blue eyes. 

   He tries to explain it away, but he can’t. Who else could it be? The bull was _metal_. How many other blue-eyed people were out there, who had a connection to metal and bulls?

   He could never be with her. True love, protector, even platonic friend or whatever else those soul marks mean. He knows that. She’s a freaking _lady_ (or princess? it’s complicated) and he’s some lowly, lowborn, blacksmith scum from Flea Bottom. They could never be like that, in anyway. She’s referred to him as family a few times, but no. She’s to be with someone like Edric Dayne, and he’s to be some poor blacksmith for the rest of his life. Maybe marry some whore, get her knocked up, continue the cycle of poverty. 

   He lovers the Brotherhood. He loves what the stand for, and how they go about standing for it. He wants to join, and definitely not because of Arya. At least, not mostly.

   When they reach Arya’s brother’s camp, she’s fourteen. Three years, three whole years, she’s been apart from her family, yet she hesitates. After a few excruciatingly long seconds, she turns to him and asks him in a curt voice if he’ll stay with her. If he weren’t on a horse, he might have fallen over in surprise. He can feel the Brotherhood’s eyes on him, even though they’re all pretending like they aren’t being nosy assholes.

   He says yes, and his mark burns.

 

 

   Bran gets his mark the day after he finds his direwolf. It’s a deep green lizard-lion with netting that coils around it like a snake. It sits cautiously around the base of his neck, and he shows his whole family the mark with pride. Jon and Robb are kind, Theon makes a jape he doesn’t understand, Sansa fawns over it and complains about how her kid brother has one before she and Arya complains because Bran’s looks so much better than her’s. He thinks of naming his direwolf Lizard-Lion, after his mark, but it doesn’t quite fit.

   His father tells him it looks like the sigil for House Reed, and that perhaps he should send Howland a letter about it. Howland has a daughter only a few years older than he after all, and perhaps a union between the two houses would truly cement the already deep bond between Stark and Reed. Bran notices that Ned does look a little forlorn as he tells him, but Bran says nothing. 

   His mother is a little apprehensive at first, what with the Riverlanders having a somewhat less than positive view of crannogmen, but she comes around. She tells him how beautiful it is and how lucky he is to have recieved one. 

   Old Nan tells him stories about soul marks. The stories are all very contradictory. They are given to us by the old gods, they are curses from the new gods, they are omens, they are evil, they are blessings. 

   When his legs are destroyed, any happiness connected to his mark disappears. Who could love a broken boy? It becomes a noose as it ever so slowly strangles the hope from him. When his father dies, it feels like an omen, just as Ned had said.

   And then the Reed children arrive. 

   They both have their marks. Jojen’s is a three-eyed-raven that looks suspiciously like the ones in his dreams at the name of his neck, and Meera has a direwolf’s head that looks suspiciously like Summer in the same spot. Bran cannot help but trust them. When they escape from Winterfell, he goes without a second thought. 

   Jojen talks about how those with deep bonds and connections can have soul marks for each other without it being romantic. After all, his is a three-eyed-crow and it’s not as if he and the crow are to be each other’s true loves.

   But still, Bran cannot help but love Meera. Perhaps it is a silly crush, like the one Sansa had on Joffrey, but a part of him thinks that maybe it is more. But everytime he thinks as such, he is reminded of his cripples nature and his heart sinks because _who could love a broken boy_? Yet still, he wonders what she’d say if he said he loved her.

   When they reach the cave of the three-eyed-crow, he’s elated. They did it, they really did it, but he’s companions are not so excited. Jojen is solemn (at least, more so than usual), skulking and speaking morbidly of his fate. Meera too, grows less and less cheerful. She watches Bloodraven and the children with distrust. At first Bran doesn’t understand why. This is what they’ve been waiting for, for years. And then they killed Jojen.

   He knew something felt wrong about that bowl of paste. He knew it, and yet he kept eating it because he had to. They’d gone this far already, why stop at a bowl of foreboding paste? 

   He woke up the next morning to Meera screaming. 

   Jojen was gone, and Bloodraven and the children didn’t even lie. Bran was horrified, how could they have done such a thing? Who could he have done such a thing? Meera begged him to leave, because what else could this creatures do? But he stays. He stayed because he’d done a horrific thing and if he left now it would all be for nothing. All those years wandering, all those years he’d taken from Jojen and Meera, the life he’d taken, how could he leave?

   He still wondered what Meera would say if he told her he loved her.

   He was older now, and it wasn’t some stupid crush. He loved her, enough that he was beginning to wonder if perhaps the three-eyed-crow wasn’t worth it. 

   When the White Walkers attacked, a part of him almost grateful. They ran and they watched everyone die and Bran stopped being Bran and it was all his fault and yet when the White Walkers came so close death was almost certain it was Meera who apologised. _I’m sorry Bran, I’m so sorry, I love you, I’m sorry_.

   When he became the three-eyed-crow, he didn’t see Meera as he used to. He stopped wondering what she’s say if he told her he loved her because he didn’t. It was Bran who had loved her, and Bran was dead. 

   She stayed though. Even after he told her he wasn’t Bran. Even though he couldn’t reciprocate any feelings. And slowly, ever so slowly, Bran came back. It was small at first, smiling at memories of his former life. Tears at the thought of Summer. Empathy when Meera spoke of Jojen. Love when Meera smiled.

   He’d never be the same, not really. The death of Jojen would always be a part of him, Summer would always be a part of him, the three-eyed-crow would always be a part of him, but so would Bran. 

   When Bran finally told her he loved her, she laughed and said she knew.

 

 

   Meera was born with her mark, just like her brother. It’s a dark grey wolf, rather subdued and calm-looking, frosted with snow and with deep blue eyes that seem to hold such knowledge. The most peculiar thing, to her at least, is that the wolf has outstretched raven’s wings.

   Her brother’s is just as odd, a crow with three eyes. Their father tells them many stories of wolves and crows, and soon she grows to love her mark.

   She believes in soul mates, very much so. Not necessarily in the romantic true love type but certainly in strong bonds that soulmates have. Her father’s mark is a patch of bog lillies (or jyanas, as the crannogmen call them) around his wrist. Her mother’s is a lizard-lion around her wrist. She loves the story of how they met. Her mother had guessed pretty early who her mark was for. Lizard-lion marks were always exclusively for those destined for a Reed, and Howland was the only son of the current Reed of the Neck. Jyana never really acted on any impulse to seek out Howland, because though crannogmen are a tight-knit community she was still a lowborn, and he highborn. It would have been unseemly for her to do so.

   It was Howland who found her. He’d been curious as to who his mark was for, and he’d heard of the rare beauty they named for the same flowers that circled his wrist. He found her one day yelling at a spear-maker for having given her one that she deemed sub-par, and from that moment they’d loved each other fiercely.

   Meera too, knew who her mark was for. Direwolf soul marks were rare, and had only ever been seen for Starks. Howland had planned to write to Eddard about it when she came of age, but circumstance had stopped anything of he sort and after Eddard’s death, Jojena and Meera were sent to Winterfell.

   When she saw Summer, she knew it was Bran who was the object of her soul mark, and his own mark on his neck sealed it. He was a sweet boy, and all her instincts were directed to protecting him.

   She figures out he has a crush on her pretty quickly. It’s not too hard to discern, what with him being young and their little group being so close. It’s cute, but she doesn’t like him in that way. He’s too young, and she sees him as she does her brother. 

   He gets older though, and she realises that maybe she loves him in another way. She always will of course, she’s his protector and he her prince, but perhaps she loves him like Howland loves Jyana.

   When they reach the cave, it feels wrong. It doesn’t feel safe, it doesn’t feel like some great end to their quest. It feels like danger, but she stays because Jojen says they must and because Bran says he must.

   It’s terrible, living in that cave. Jojen grows darker and even more serious and he won’t tell her why or what he’s seen. Bran seems fine, though too trusting of Bloodraven and the children. Her fears become reality when she wakes up one morning and Jojen is gone. She screamed into the nothing, into the everything. She screamed at Bloodraven and the children and thy don’t even lie. To say she’s horrified at what they did is an understatement. She’s disgusted.

   Yet she stays, because she knows she must. Because Jojen came here knowing he’d die. She tries to be angry at Bran, but she can’t. He’s only sixteen, barely a man grown. He looked just as shocked and revolted as her when he’d found out. 

   The White Walkers attack, and she doesn’t feel very sorry when Bloodraven and the children are killed. It still hurt tremendously though, because she could feel the death of Summer and Hodor’s death was her fault. She can see Bran sapping into the tree and she has half a mind to find some way to make it stop but the Walkers are here and they have to run and then they’re here and tehyre going to die and she cries and she apologises because she helped Jojen to the cave, she didn’t take Bran and Jojen and Summer and Hodor away and it’s her fault Hodor is dead and Jojen too and Summer.

 _I’m sorry Bran, I’m so sorry, I love you, I’m sorry_.

   It hurts, when she realises he’s not Bran anymore. He’ll never love her back again, in any way. But she stays with him, because she’s his protector and he’s her prince. Slowly, ever so slowly, he returns. First, it’s Arya telling him some story from childhood and him smiling. Then it was true sadness when she spoke of Summer’s death. Then it was empathy, real empathy, when she cried over Jojen. And when she looked at him with love, she realised he reciprocated.

   He’s never quite the same. There are times when he falls back into the crow, or when he stares ahead blankly, or when he looks at her like he doesn’t recognise who she is. But she’ll always stay with him, no matter what, because she’s his protector and he’s her prince.

   When Bran finally confesses to having always loved Meera even when he was a boy and that he still does, she laughs and says she knows.

 

 

   Rickon is with Osha on the boat to Skagos when he gets his mark. Its his seventh birthday, and it hurts so much. It’s a doe with a strange grey scaly thing crawling over it burning in a fiery redness on the back of his hand. Osha gives him some fabric to chew on so he doesn’t scream too loudly and says she’s she’ll find some pain-dullers on Skagos. She grabs his hand and tutters, saying something about how his lover must be unclean and something about greyscale. 

   Rickon doesn’t recall much about his family’s marks. He vaguely remembers a big sword on his mother’s stomach, a fish on his father’s and the lizard-lion on Bran’s neck. His brothers have mixed together in his head and the only sister he can recall is Arya and though he does remember her complaining about her mark once upon a time he doesn’t remember what it was.

   Skagos is scary at first. He remembers the stories Old Nan told him, of cannibal savages descended from giants who do horrifying blood rituals. Stories of massive beasts and unicorns that can do demonic magic and a great many more terrifying tales.

   It’s not all true. The savages part is a little true, but the rest isn’t so much. At least, not in Rickon’s opinion. They don’t eat human flesh out of evil, they do it because they have to get rid of the dead bodies or they’ll come back to life as Wights. And they don’t make him eat it, in fact not many of them do. Just the wargs who eat them when they’re in animal form. And the unicorns aren’t magic, they’re just animals that make funny noises and who let the Skagosi and sometimes Rickon ride them. And they’re not descended from giants, at least not all of them. They’re just big and hairy, like Hodor. 

   The Skagosi are welcoming. Osha tells him how her own mother was Skagosi, a woman who was stolen by a wildling. They live in the big ugly stone castle that the Skagosi call Kingshouse. The Magnar who live there are very nice to him and Osha and let Rickon do whatever he wishes. 

   Sometimes though, he remembers things from when he was a Stark. He remembers his mother’s red hair and how she smelled like lemons and he remembers his father’s nose and how he used to try and grab it and he remembers Arya playing chasey with him and how his mother would scold her and tell her to stop and he remembers running in the big castle and he wants to go back so badly. He cries into Shaggydog’s fur while Osha hugs him and tells him that one day he’ll go back.

   His mark is a kind of protector. When he’s asleep, he sometimes dreams of a burning doe. It comforts him when he’s angry or upset or scared, and whenever he looks at it he smiles.

   Davos Seaworth finds him on Skagos on his twelfth birthday. The first thing he does is notice Rickon’s mark and laugh. Shaggydog and he both growl at the man, and he hears him call Rickon a wild beast. He likes being called that, but only a little. Osha captures him though, and only lets him go when she’s satisfied he’s telling the truth. He tells Rickon how his family are still alive and how they’re desperate to find him. How distraught his mother is, how hard Robb is looking to find him, how much Sansa and Arya miss him, how they found Bran and how Bran helped them find him because and how much he wants to see his little brother. The names bring forth dim memories. Red hair, running in the castle, loud voices. 

   They agree to go, and Rickon is surprised by how much people seem to think he’s some feral boy. It hurts him, how they flinch and try to avoid him. 

   They arrive in King’s Landing after a few months. They’re waiting for him, those people Davos calls his family. He sees a woman with red hair and runs to her, hismind screaming at him that that’s mother. She reels back though, and stares at him confused. She says she’s Sansa, not mother. Rickon doesn’t remember a Sansa. Sansa points to a woman a little away. That can’t be his mother. His mother‘s hair was brighter, and her eyes were too, and her skin had less wrinkles. He embraces her though, and she cries. She shows him the rest of the family. Robb, who Rickon remembers as being taller. Arya, who looks too girlish. Bran, who’s in a wheelchair and looks too old to be his brother. 

   They being hi to an old man who sits on a massive chair made of swords. Stannis Baratheon, they call him. Davos tells him to kneel to the king, but he only does after Sansa tells him he must. When he does, he feels a great burning on his hand and cries out in pain, and Stannis Baratheon raises a judgemental brow. His family apologise to Stannis Baratheon and take him to a room they say will be his while the stay in King’s Landing. 

   When he’s not getting to know his family, he stays to the weirwoods. It’s the closest to Skagos he can get in this strange city. He’s sitting there one day, petting Shaggydog, when his mark burns again.

    _Hello,_ says a girl _. My name is Shireen. May I pet your wolf?_ The first thing he notices about her is her blue eyes. They’re such an intense shade of blue, and yet they seem like nice eyes. He scoots over and let’s her sit next to him. He expects Shaggydog to growl like he does around strangers, only his direwolf barks happily. The girl giggles, before turning to him. She shows him her palm, and on it is her soul mark. It looks just like Shaggydog, wild and growling, only the dog has blue eyes that look like Rickon. He shows her his one, and though it makes her wince a little she smiles. As he looks at her face, he realises how much the grey stuff on his mark looks like her greyscale.

   From then on, they’re friends. She helps him learn how to be Westerosi, not Skagosi. How he shouldn’t growl at the servants who try to help him, and she helps him connect with his family. Sometimes when it gets too much, the lack of noise or the stuffiness or the tension, she’ll put her marked palm over his hand, and he’ll calm.

   A few years later they’re crowned Queen Shireen Baratheon and King Consort Rickon Stark of the Seven Kingdoms.

 

 

   Shireen gained her mark the same time she gained her greyscale. It was another thing that made her mother dislike her, this ferocious growling dog on her palm. And though it is shrouded in that terribleness, she believes in it.

   Shireen likes it though. It protects her against the greyscale, against sadness, against bad dreams, against loneliness. She wonders who in Westeros could be her soul mate, and how in Seven Hells they must be made for each other. She’s never been a ferocious or wild or feral child, rather a quiet one.

   Shireen knows her parents are not the most loving husband and wife, and she doubts they are soulmates. Her mother’s mark is over her heart. A blaze of fire, like the one of R’hllor. She wonders if it is Melisandre, or perhaps R’hllor, or maybe even the fires themselves that are her mother’s soulmate. Her father bares no mark, and though some wonder if it’s just in a place you’d cannot see while he is clothed, she doesn’t believe he has one. If he does, she’d guess it were also for Melisandre, or R’hllor.

   It is Davos who really convinces her soulmates are real. His mark is a little poppy flower behind his ear. He tells Shireen how his Marya was the daughter of an apothecary owner, and how she wold help make the milk of the poppy. He tells her how Marya has an onion behind her ear, same place as him, and it makes her laugh. She can’t imagine having a onion branded on her skin, and being told your soulmate is connected to onions. Davos laughs and says Marya had always wondered how mugh her soulmate must have liked onions for it to be her mark.

   She does not see a great many people, and soulmates even less so, so she clings to the story of Davos and Marya. In her nightmares, she conjures the big black wolf from her mark to protect her. It comforts her, even though she knows it’s not real.

   She’s thirteen when her mother tries to kill her.

   Her mother comes into her tent with a hair brush and a smile. She didn’t think much of it at first, because she was so desperate for her mother’s warmth. Finally, perhaps, she was being loved. She fiddles with the little deer figure Davos had given her as Selyse brushes out Shireen’s tangles.

   She talks of R’hllor, as usual. Talks about how Stannis is losing, how winter was destroying the army, how the Lannisters are beating him, how Robb is beating him. How they need a beacon of hope, and she asks if Shireen wants to be that beacon. She nods fervantly, of course. As cold as Stannis is to her, she loves her father eye much. Selyse smiles widely, and embraces her daughter for the first time in what feel like years.

   When she looks back on it, she wishes she had not been so eager to please her mother. If she’d just been smarter, perhaps she’d have remembered that her father was parleying with Robb at that very moment, bartering peace. Perhaps she’d have remembered that though the Lannisters were technically winning, it was only by a hair and because the main chunk of the Baratheon armies had joined the Tyrells and Robb when Renly died, and that pretty soon her father would not be losing. 

   Selyse leads her out of the tent, holding her hand and whispering about duty and faith. It’s only when Shireen spots Melisandre that her blood runs cold. Selyse hold her tighter, so tight it hurts, and pulls her to a stake. Shireen screams and begs as Selyse lights the fire. They burn, they burn so much. She can feel her skin cooking and it horrified her how it smells like a roast meal. She tries to conjure the big black dog like she does in her nightmares but it never comes. As if emboldened by some external force, Melisandre leaps onto the platform and unties Shireen, throwing her to the snowy ground. It’s heavenly, that snow. Melisandre stands there, shocked and horrified. She mutters something about King Snow, and leaves without another word. 

   Selyse is screaming and crying, and it angers Shireen. How can this woman do as such after what she’s done? Selyse tries to pick up Shireen and drag her to the stake but the sound of horse hooves interrupts them. Robb Stark and her father jump from their horses and run to her smouldering body. Shireen yells as best she can what happened, before the black nothingness consumes her.

   She dreams of a wild place, full of wild people. Her big black wolf is there, running after a boy a few years younger than she. She chases it as best she can, but she wakes before she can reach.

   She finds she’s glad when she wakes and her mother is gone. Stannis, who had always been so distant, comforts her and tells her about how he had tried so hard to cure her greyscale. He tells her that Robb has agreed to a truce, and that soon they will be in King’s Landing where they belong.

   When she sees Rickon in the throne room, her hand burns. Memories of the flame plague her vision, and they only stop when she notices the massive black wolf beside Rickon. 

   She watches him over the next few days. It’s clear he’s forgotten his family, forgotten Westeros. He’s a wild, feral, ferocious child. She watches him sitting quietly in the Godswood with his wolf. Her hand burns whenever she does, but slowly she stops imagining the flames as tehyre dulled by the image of Rickon and Shaggydog.

   She goes up to him, trying to be as polite as possible.  _Hello,_ she says, careful not to upset him _. My name is Shireen. May I pet your wolf?_ He nods cautiously and scoots over, patting the area beside him. When she touches Shaggydog’s fur, waves of relief rush over her. This is where she belongs.

   They become easy friends. When he’s not growling and the poor servants, he’s generally a kind boy. Sometimes it gets difficult, when the thoughts of the fires come back, and she’ll grab his hand and feel that relief, like the snow after Melisandre pushed her.

   A few years later they’re crowned Queen Shireen Baratheon and King Consort Rickon Stark.

 

 

   Eddard never had very good experiences with soulmates, not once in his life. They had always been omens, dangerous, tainted by death or tragedy. Even his own mark, though he dearly and deeply loved his Cat, was stained by that darkness.

   His parents were his first brush with soul marks and they certainly were not soulmates, that much was clear. It was not that they hated each other, it’s just that the coldness between them was palpable. His father’s mark was a sword, the same one that he’d be buried with in the crypts. His mother had four marks at her stomach above her womb, one for each of her children. The first was a wild, growling wolf for Brandon; the second was Ice, for Eddard; the third a blue winter rose for Lyanna; forth, a black cloak for Benjen. She died giving birth to a fifth, and Eddard sometimes wondered how quickly all memory of her would leave the frigid walls of Winterfell.

   His second was Lyanna, who gained her mark at the beginning of the Year of the False Spring. A smoking black crown that circled around her waist, decorated with a great many insignias like orange suns, dragon eggs, antlers, red comets and blue winter roses. She cries throughout the night she receives it, the pain so scorching her screams are heard as far as winter town. When he looks back, he wishes he’d seen the signs.

   His third is when he gains his own mark, apparently the moment Brandon dies. A royal blue and crimson trout, cut deeply with five long slashes. He knows who it’s for. Who else could it have been? Perhaps Brandon would have laughed and slapped him on the back, making a joke about Eddard always having his seconds.

   His forth brush with soul marks is when he’s told that Brandon got his mark the night before he died. Green flames that trailed his back. Catelyn asks one day, somewhat timidly, about Brandon’s mark. He tells her Brandon never recieved one.

   His fifth was his wedding night with Catelyn. He knew that to her, he was but a symbol of her fallen beloved. When he saw her mark for the first time he had to wonder, was it for him, or Brandon?

   His sixth is in that dreaded Tower of Joy, sitting beside his sweet sister as she begged for him to save her son. He remembered seeing her mark, slathered in blood and sweat and tears, as Lyanna died in that fortress of blood and roses.

   His seventh is with Jon, when the boy is barely eight. His screams sound just like Lyanna’s, and they hold that same dread and fear that lingers over her. He knows why he’s screaming before he even reaches his room, and he orders the servants out before they can see it. He cannot take risks, not for Lyanna. The poor child hides his fear and pain as Ned inspects the mark. It makes his blood run cold, though at this point perhaps such occurances should be expected.

   A Targaryen sigil, silver with purple streaks and jewel eyes. Who else could it be, but the exiled Targaryen princess? And once someone figures that out, who’s to stop them from linking Jon to Rhaegar, to Lyanna? He orders the boy to never show it to anyone, to say his screams where from nightmare. He tries to explain as best he can, though the boy looks as lost and fearful as Ned feels.

   On that dreaded day when Jon’s sleeve rips, Ned’s heart stops. He speaks with all the children, one by one, warning them never ever speak of the mark. And Catelyn, she doesn’t even yell at him (at least, not after he takes her aside. she does shriek quite loudly when she first sees it). When they’re alone, all she does is ask him if it’s for the Targaryen Princess before silencing herself on the matter forever.

   He only lives to see three of his children’s marks. The first being Arya and her bull’s head. He guesses Baratheon, from the black head, the yellow horns and blue eyes. He can’t say he hopes it’s for Robert’s children, because any product of Cersei Lannister will never be enough for Arya. 

   When he sees the Baratheon bastard though, the blacksmith one from Flea Bottom, he can’t help but feel a little grateful. It’s clear he’s Arya’s, with his bullhead helmet, and Eddard notes the boy’s wolf mark looks rather like Arya’s direwolf. Perhaps if the boy is ever acknowledged and legitimised, he might introduce Arya to him. He never does though, of course.

   Robb is second, with his golden rose and green vines. It’s for a Tyrell, no doubts about that, and though Catelyn is pleased Ned can’t say he is. The Tyrells are notoriously cunning, and no good has come to a Stark gone south. Catelyn is elated however, talking of how Mace Tyrell has a young and reportedly very beautiful daughter around Robb’s age, and Ned has to concede that it would be a good match. Winter is coming, as it always is, and the Tyrells have much needed food stocks.

   Bran is third, and the last of his children he sees gain a mark. A lizard-lion, as deep green as the Neck, and though Eddard is happy it’s for a family he trusts, he cannot help but remember how Howland had to pry Ned’s fingers from Lyanna’s cold, dead hands. He recalls though, that Howland has a young daughter who perhaps will make Bran happy. It all falls apart, of course, when Bran falls from that tower. A part of him hopes Howland’s girl could love a broken boy.

   When he dies, the last thing he feels is the burn from his mark.

 

 

   Catelyn gained her mark the night of her betrothal to Brandon Stark. A Valyrian longsword, one her father calls _Ice_ , sideways along her stomach. She cannot help but admire it, and wonder if Brandon has one for her.

   She believes in soulmates, if somewhat apprehensively. Though she doesn’t remember much of her mother, she does remember those blue-and-red scales that crawled up her mother’s legs, and she’s also seen the yellow-and-black bat wings on her father’s ankle. 

   She wasn’t the only one to gain her mark that day. Lysa did as well, and Petyr too. She remembers Lysa’s only faintly, having only seen it a couple times. She remembers her father telling Lysa to keep it covered. A mockingbird, at the small of her back. She remembers Petyr’s though, because he showed it to her just before his duel with Brandon, begging her to see that it was he who was her soulmate. A silver trout with blue eyes and just a hint of red at the scales, a mockingbird in front of it. Perhaps if she had shown him her mark, proved it was not for him, he might not have fought. Instead he did, and he was sent away.

   When Brandon dies she doesn’t believe it, because she felt nothing. It’s a fact, confirmed by the maester of the citadel time and time again, that when a person will feel a strong burning sensation when their soulmate dies. It happened to her father, she remembers seeing him fall to the ground in pain and how he couldn’t walk for days after Minisa’s death. Yet she felt nothing.

   She’s married to Eddard quicker than one can say _Stark_. She’s scared, she’d be a liar if she said otherwise, but she is a Tully and it is her duty. She remembers the first time she sees him, and how her mark burns. That night, when they’re both bared for each other, she sees the Tully trout on his stomach and it comforts her. Perhaps it’ll all be alright.

   Eddard goes to war almost immediately, and she’s left pregnant and alone. If he dies, she wonders if the pain of her soul mark might hurt the babe. She prays every night for him to return alive. He does, and with him he brings a bastard.

   She wishes he would have left the child with the mother. At least then she could have forgotten it existed. But no, he keeps him in Winterfell. He lets everyone see the boy, same as Robb. And then he gets his mark, and it’s a goddamn Targaryen Princess because of course it has to be. 

   Arya gets her mark not long after, and any anger she held towards soul marks vanishes. A Baratheon, no doubt, and perhaps it is for one of Robert’s boys. Perhaps her Arya will get to be the wife of a prince, perhaps she might be queen. Of course, Arya hates the prospect, but Catelyn can sleep knowing that someone is out there for Arya, someone who will love her despite her oddities.

   Robb gets his mark next, and she’s elated. It’s not a Targaryen princess, but then again said Targaryen princess is exhaled and in Essos and a beggar, if the rumours are correct. Perhaps she and the boy deserve each other. But Robb, Robb has a beautiful Tyrell girl. She hopes it is Margaery, the young girl who the gossip says will be the most beautiful woman in all of Westeros by the time she is a woman grown, though truly she does not mind. All she wishes is for her Robb to have a person who loves him.

   Bran is third, with the lizard-lion around his Neck. At first she is hesitant, having grown up with rumpus that crannogmen were savages, but she knows Ned trusts Howland and she trusts Ned with all her heart.

   And then Ned is killed. 

   She feels it, and it’s the worst pain she’s ever felt. Even worse than childbirth. She’s bedridden for days, left to mourn for her beloved from a bed while her son, her beautiful son, is left to rule in the wake of his father’s death 

   The war is terrible, worse than the Rebellion. All she wants is for it to be over so she can have her children back in Winterfell and safe. It’s stupid, silly, idealistic, she knows, but she begs the Gods for her children to survive.

   Robb goes to parley with Renly, and she’s anxious every second. If she could have she’d have gone in his place but she knows it wouldn’t have been as impactful. It had to be the King himself. He returns home though, with Margaery Tyrell by his side and the might of Highgarden behind him. Though Walder grumbles at first, it’s not as if he can fight back, not with Highgarden on their side. For once, she’s hopeful.

   It all goes away of course, when she hears of Bran and Rickon deaths. Her mark burns for them, and she cries that night. Her boys, her youngest boys, killed by Theon Greyjoy. She can’t help but feel the burn wasn’t the same as Ned’s when he died, but she knows it’s just folly thinkin like that. They recapture Winterfell, and she has to bite her tongue when Robb allows Theon to live. She’s slightly appeased when the Boltons offer to hold him in the Drearfort. She’s heard the rumours, and she hopes they’re true.

   Margaery offers to send some Tyrell spies into King’s Landing and have them retrieve Sansa and Arya, and Robb agrees. They return a few months later empty of her daughters and with the knowledge that Sansa had been kidnaped by Sandor Clegane and that Arya had never been in King’s Lading at all, having escaped afete Ned’s execution. She’s comforted only by the fac her mark hasn’t burned for them.

   They return to her three years later, and her mark burns when she sees them. It’s not the same burn as Ned’s or Rickon and Bran’s, rather a loving sort of burn. If anything, it is confirmation they’re alive. Arya swaggers over as if there aren’t three years of separation bwteeen them, with a blacksmith who looks suspiciously like Robert did when he was young in tow. Sansa runs to her when she sees her, her skirts so muddy and patched and her hair so tangled she barely recognises her. She’s a woman grown now, and Catelyn smiles when she sees the Dayne boy Sansa’s attached herself to. Between tears Sansa shows Catelyn her soul mark, a sword down her leg and Catelyn can’t help feel that connection to Ice, but she smiles and embraces her lost daughters.

   Robb eventually kneels to Stannis, agreeting to stay a part of the Seven Kingdoms on a list of conditions a foot long. The overthrow the Lannisters, and it’s so easy Catelyn could laugh. They return to Winterfell, finally, and hough she still mourns and feels those pains in her heart and mark, she’s content.

   And then, if it couldn’t get any better, Bran returns. At first she’s sceptical, until her mark burns with that same love she felt for Sansa and Arya. Bran’s older, sixteen, a man grown. He’s solemn, changed, and though it saddens her she’s too overwhelmed with joy to care. A woman a little older than Bran explains their travels, and when she introduces herself as Meera Reed, Catelyn embraces her. 

   News of Rickon being alive and on Skagos reaches Stannis, and he offers to send his trusted adviser to fetch him. Catelyn cries for happiness that night, and hopes Ned is at peace wherever he is knowing his children lived.

   They travel down to King’s Landing, and when she sees Rickon she feels that burn and she outstretched her arms for her boy to return to. Only, Rickon goes to Sansa. Her heart sinks, but of course. The years have weathered Catelyn, and aged Sansa to a more beautiful version of Cat’s younger self. Her sadness is appeased quickly though, when Shireen befriends Rickon and helps him remember his family. It takes a few years, but when Shireen is crowned Queen, Rickon is beside her.

   And then the boy returns, only he’s not Jon anymore. He’s Jaeherys Targaryen, son of Lyanna Stark and Rhaegar Targaryen, rightful King of the Seven Kingdoms, husband of Daenerys Targaryen, rightful Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. Howland is with him, Meera’s father, Ned’s most trusted friend. He explains the boy’s parentage, explains Ned’s need to lie. She’s speechless as he talks, but she accepts it. Shireen abdicates and moves to Storm’s End with Rickon, and Catelyn has to watch the boy she despised sit on the Iron Throne.

   She goes to him, one day. She tells him she does not ask for forgiveness, because truly she does not deserve it. Even if he wasn’t Ned’s bastard, she should never have ostracised and isolated a child. She apologises and leaves, and though Jon accepts the apology she knows it’ll weigh on her forever.

   She dies a happy woman. Her eldest son King in the North and the Lord of Winterfell with his Tyrell bride, her elder daughter the Lady of Starfall beside her Dayne husband, her younger daughter exploring the lands with her (now legitimised) Baratheon bastard, her younger son Lord of Greywater Watch with his Reed protector and youngest son Lord of Storm’s End with his Baratheon (former) queen. A good legacy, she believes, and she dies with her mark burning bright.

 

**Author's Note:**

> lmao i play real fast and loose when it comes to canon so..............sorry not sorry
> 
> also i might add another chapter for othee couples like Jaime/Brienne and Sam/Gilly and maybe even Renly/Loras, and i might do a little thing on Cersei plus her kids or a more detailed version of the people from robert’s rebellion (lyanna, rhaegar, robert, elia etc). idk, if i do it i’ll do it after i finish my robbaery fic
> 
> also wow, this is the longest single chapter i’ve ever posted. freaking 12,000 words.
> 
> also i know there’s a heap of spelling mistakes in this, ill go back and edit when i have time. please comment below any of them!
> 
> :D


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